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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236374">And I Blessed Them Unaware</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterbeerandbutterknives/pseuds/Butterbeerandbutterknives'>Butterbeerandbutterknives</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In Which Dean Has EDS [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canes, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Crutches, Dean Winchester has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Depressed Castiel (Supernatural), Disabled Dean Winchester, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M, Mobility Aids, Outercourse, Season/Series 08, Shower Sex, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:23:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterbeerandbutterknives/pseuds/Butterbeerandbutterknives</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Since then, at an uncertain hour,<br/>That agony returns:<br/>And till my ghastly tale is told,<br/>This heart within me burns.”<br/>― Samuel Taylor Coleridge,<i> The Rime of the Ancient Mariner</i><br/>Set sometime after Hunter Heroci. Dean's disabled, Castiel's suicidal, and the two find themselves bonding over the Rime of The Ancient Mariner. Part two of my EDS!Dean verse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In Which Dean Has EDS [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Penance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Notice: This topic explores the topics of suicidal thoughts and penance. Also, spoilers for Coleridge's <i>The Rime of the Ancient Mariner</i> copyright has long since expired for his work, and as such can be found online for free. I highly recommend reading the tale if you ever have a half-hour to spare. This is a continuation of another work, but can be read separately with the knowledge that in this verse, Dean Winchester suffers from Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, a genetic condition resulting in chronic pain, joint instability and frequent joint dislocations, and other health issues associated with faulty collagen.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Castiel was surprised when Dean was awake less than three hours after he’d laid down. The last hunt had been brutal- not emotionally, as it was a pretty typical vamp hunt, but the final stragglers of the nest had taken off into the icy woods of Montana when threatened, leaving all three of them bolting through subzero temperatures for nigh on an hour.</p>
<p>Castiel had been sitting in the bunker kitchen, and Dean stumbled in with a hand on the wall. “Hey, Cas.” He greeted, limping to the sink for a glass of water. “What are you doing, sitting in the dark?”</p>
<p>Castiel thought about telling Dean that the incandescent lighting in the bunker seemed to mock him, with its sterile white reminding him of heaven, but it seemed like an undue burden for the hunter to bear, so he went instead for a half truth. “I’m reading the Rime of the Ancient Mariner.”</p>
<p>Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a book.” He pointed out.</p>
<p>“I don’t require a physical copy to recall the text.” Castiel responded, looking at the way what little light in the room cascaded onto Dean’s haggard figure. He recalled the next passage as he waited for Dean’s response.</p>
<p>
  <em>And through the drifts the snowy clifts / Did send a dismal sheen: / Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—/The ice was all between.</em>
</p>
<p>“Nerd.” Dean teased playfully, sitting down across the kitchen table with a grimace he tried to conceal.</p>
<p>“What hurts?” Castiel asked quietly.  </p>
<p>“Nothing.” The hunter responded, far too quickly.</p>
<p>Castiel looked down at his hands pensively. “I only wish to help.” He replied.</p>
<p>There was something about Dean’s soul Castiel never could quite put his finger on. Whether it was love or holiness or even the same scar Atlas bore, he never could quite figure it out, but when he looked at Dean- really looked at him, past the face and body he wore, past the anguish and pain he carried, there was something intoxicating.. Something that begged of Castiel to keep looking.</p>
<p>
  <em>At length did cross an Albatross, / Thorough the fog it came; /As if it had been a Christian soul,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>/We hailed it in God's name. </em>
</p>
<p>Castiel had oft wondered what inspired Coleridge to write of an albatross as if it was a beauty beyond compare. But as he stared at Dean and looked past the figure and into that bright spot in his soul, Cas understood. He’d seen galaxies created, and galaxies destroyed. He’d witnessed the birth and death of entire species with mild interest and explored the great barrier reef as it was formed. He’d gazed at archangels in their true form and sang when Christ was born. Now, though, looking at Dean, those experiences paled in comparison to the beauty before him.</p>
<p>The fragility of the albatross perched atop a ship’s railing was so close to the fleeting lifespan of the man he loved that Castiel felt himself breaking.</p>
<p>“Do you think of it often?” Dean asked, fracturing the angel’s reverie.</p>
<p>“You’re speaking of Purgatory.” Castiel murmured. Of course, the hunter was. That night, running, with cold temperatures, a barren forest, and danger at every angle… he’d felt it too. The kind of familiarity associated not with homesickness, but rather with terror.</p>
<p>
  <em>'God save thee, ancient Mariner! / From the fiends, that plague thee thus!— / Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow /I shot the ALBATROSS.</em>
</p>
<p>Castiel closed his eyes as he remembered the carnage in heaven. “I think of it all the time.” He responded. Opening his eyes, he saw Dean look at him solemnly, and Castiel wondered if the hunter saw past the body he himself wore, too. “I oftentimes think I left there before my penance was over.” He continued. His hands were shaking slightly, causing a faint rattle against the wood of the table. “I think I should still be there. That I deserve to still be there.” If he had breath, it surely would have caught in his throat as he turned to gaze into the abyss of the darkened kitchen.</p>
<p>“I know that in reality, we were only there for a year.” Dean agreed. “And yet it feels like I spent a lifetime there.”</p>
<p>“Day after day, day after day, / We stuck, nor breath nor motion; / As idle as a painted ship/Upon a painted ocean.” Castiel agreed. “Angels are not supposed to grow weary from the passage of time. But that place… That place exhausted me, Dean.”</p>
<p>“You knew.” Dean spoke. “You knew the whole time that you weren’t going to come through that gate with me.” His voice was quiet, filled with the staccato rage of a cat about to pounce. “That’s why you were so…” He trailed off. <em>Nice</em> was too plain a word. Nice was flowers on an anniversary, or breakfast in bed. Nice was far too simple a word for what he and Cas were to each other during purgatory.</p>
<p>“I wanted to leave you with good memories.” Castiel responded.</p>
<p>“Is that what you’re doing now?”  </p>
<p><em>Ah! well a-day! what evil looks / Had I from old and young! / Instead of the cross, the Albatross / About my neck was hung. </em>Castiel read as he thought about it. “I don’t understand the question.” He replied.</p>
<p>“Cut the shit, Cas.” Dean barked. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Is this hunting, being around Sam and I 24/7 life simply your way of trying to lessen my grief before you off yourself?” His voice cracked. “I won’t lose you Cas. I can’t lose you.”</p>
<p>Castiel exhaled. “The many men, so beautiful! / And they all dead did lie: / And a thousand thousand slimy things / Lived on; and so did I.” He quoted. “I know what that mariner felt, Dean. What this overwhelming grief feels like, to live on after seeing souls die at your own hand.” He looked down at the sleeve of his trench coat now, remembering the gore of his brothers’ flesh and grace that had coated it in heaven. “I killed so many of my brothers.” He whispered. “And I cannot promise you that I will not claim the life of one more angel.” He added. “But I don’t want to put you through that. I’m staying here, forcing myself to view you to remind myself that I still have purpose, Dean.”</p>
<p>Dean nodded shakily. “I wish I could help you.”</p>
<p>Castiel exhaled, more out of habit than of any excess air. “Is this what love is?” He asked. “To look at another and wish more than anything, that you could bear their burdens for them?”</p>
<p>Dean smiled sadly. “I think it is.”</p>
<p>“It’s awful.” Castiel replied, smiling a bit when Dean laughed.</p>
<p>“Want to watch a movie?” Dean offered.</p>
<p>Nodding, Castiel stood quickly walking to help Dean stand as well. Dean moved to shrug him off, but Castiel ignored him, wrapping an arm around the hunter’s waist. “Please.” Castiel asked. “Please just allow me to feel like I’m helping.”</p>
<p>Dean nodded and leaned against Cas. His legs were shaky from the run, and his knees ached from the cold. How did he convince Cas he needed him? How did he convince him that his feelings for Cas were not just desire of lust, but of the hunger one feels for air when held under the water for too long? How did he convince the sun of its necessity? “Cas.” He spoke. “You always help.”</p>
<p>Except Castiel didn’t feel like he was helping. He felt like poison, like perhaps had he not gotten involved with the Winchesters they’d be happily living the monster – a – week life, instead of standing here, next to a man who, like him, was haunted by what once was in purgatory. “I prayed in purgatory.”  He confessed, as he thought of another passage in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner.</p>
<p>
  <em>I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; / But or ever a prayer had gusht, / A wicked whisper came, and made / My heart as dry as dust. </em>
</p>
<p>Dean stilled, and Castiel paused, taking the moment to squeeze Dean’s waist a little tighter. “He never replied.” The angel confessed. “I screamed, I cried. I prayed in Enochian, in Hebrew, in languages that have been dead since long before Noah built the ark, and he never replied.” Castiel murmured. “In my hour of need, my father did not come to answer. I fear that my repulsive actions when the leviathan were in me may be the closest thing this earth will ever get to having God walk the earth. I fear the closest I will ever feel to my father is what I felt when I housed his rejections.”</p>
<p>Dean laughed, and Castiel looked hurt. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear.” Dean promised. “I’m laughing at myself because I never thought I’d be leaning on an angel of the lord, about to bond over daddy issues with him.”</p>
<p>Castiel continued walking, intent on getting Dean seated quickly. He knew the hunter needed rest and warm compresses to recuperate. “Have you felt this, as well?” The angel asked. “This…” He trailed off, unable to conjure the word he was searching for. Rejection? Anguish? Abandonment? He silently read the next verse as he awaited the reply.</p>
<p>
  <em>I closed my lids, and kept them close, / And the balls like pulses beat; / For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky / Lay dead like a load on my weary eye, / And the dead were at my feet. </em>
</p>
<p>Dean nodded, and the pair sat down on the leather couch. “I was twenty-two.” Dean recalls. “Sammy was at Stanford, and Dad didn’t come when I called.”</p>
<p>“Tell me about it.” Castiel requests.</p>
<p>And so Dean does.  </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>The first time Dean falls apart after Stanford is the day Dad ditches him.</p>
<p>It’s not like Dean blamed him- he’s of no use on a hunt with a hip that won’t stay in the socket for more than ten steps, and he knows from John’s drunken ramblings that the sigh of Dean’s bent-back elbows and floating kneecaps were enough to remind his father of Mom. It still stings though, to not be asked to help with research or <em>anything</em>, just left in a motel room with the impala and the empty promise of a weekly phone call. The room’s been paid for two days in advance, and Dean half-slumbers through most of it, in too much pain to truly sleep, but too drowsy to do much else. The TV’s been on the same station for 36 hours straight before he gets up to peer through his wallet and see if he can afford another night in this shithole.</p>
<p>He’s somewhere outside Bemidji and the winds are howling like the werewolf his Dad ditched him to fight when Dean realized if he wants money to sleep in the motel or eat something not off the dollar menu, he’s going to have to hustle pool. He gazed out to the snow, and with a sigh, pushed himself off the bed, determined to make it to the shower.</p>
<p>He made it there, but he’s exhausted. There’s no plug for the bathtub, but he sat down anyway, turning the water on as hot as it can go. Once his skin is wrinkled and the water is threatening to go cold, Dean hauled himself to his feet and carefully swipes his hair back before sitting on the closed toilet to dress himself in a clean T-shirt and the tightest pair of jeans he owns. Tossing on his Dad’s old leather jacket, he braced himself for the jolt of cold to come when he opens the door.</p>
<p>What he didn’t brace himself for is the patch of black ice that’s suddenly under his feet, and then, even more unexpectedly, under his ass as he falls.</p>
<p>The first things he feels is blinding pain. He’s unable to even calculate what he’s injured at first, woozy from the sheer agony.</p>
<p>The second thing he feels, as he vomits what little beer that was in his stomach, is utterly, terrifyingly alone.</p>
<p>Dad is off to god knows where, likely far away from anything resembling cell service, his baby brother is at fucking <em>Stanford</em>, and he knows for a fact he’s the only one staying at the hotel because who the fuck comes to Minnesota in December?</p>
<p>He clenches his hip muscle to try and figure out what’s wrong and yep, that’s definitely a vertebra out. Dean’s stupid and will brush off a lot of things, but anything that could potentially screw with his spinal cord he tries not to fuck with. Looking sadly at the ice below his ass, he sighs. The injury is low- L1 or L2, and Dean can still wiggle his toes so no real harm was done in the fall, but he knows falling again with a joint already subluxated could leave him paralyzed.</p>
<p>Pulling out his Nokia, which was uncracked and functional as always (Dean was pretty sure the things were indestructible, as he’d run it over with the impala and sent it through the washing machine twice and it <em>still</em> worked) His hands clicked on his contacts list. It was short, and most of the names were descriptions of other hunters like <em>guy with dead daughter </em>or <em>chick who only hunts witches. </em>He’s starting to debate calling an ambulance, but the idea of tediously spelling out Ehlers-Danlos and explaining that no, he did not know the diagnostic code for that off the top of his head, and yes, he was certain he’d subluxated a vertebrae no matter how rare of an occurrence that is and-</p>
<p>His fingers speed dial his Dad before his mind had even caught up.</p>
<p>The phone rings before going to voicemail, so Dean hangs up and tries again. And again. And again, then a fifth, sixth, and seventh time before finally leaving a message on the eighth.</p>
<p>“Hey Dad, it’s me.” He greeted, willing his voice to remain stable. “Give me a call back when you can. Could use a hand if you’ve got time.”</p>
<p>Hanging up, he felt a tear run down his cheek as his hands begin to quake. Knowing it would be a few days before his Dad bothers calling him back, he resolves to call the only person he knows who always picks up on the first few rings.</p>
<p>“Singer.” The voice ruffed.  </p>
<p>“Heya, Uncle Bobby.” It’s not until he hears the nickname spill past his lips that Dean realizes he’s shaking not just from cold, but from anxiety as well.</p>
<p>“Dean?” Bobby asked, caught off-guard. He hasn’t been called Uncle by Dean for close to a decade. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>The eldest son exhaled shakily. Of course, Bobby was able to tell something was off. “You don’t happen to have any favors to cash in near Bemidji or Fargo, do you?”</p>
<p>Bobby’s voice grew more concerned. “Not off the top of my head. You gotten into trouble?”</p>
<p>Dean swallowed. “Nah, I’m good.” He lies. “I’ll catch you later, Bobby.”</p>
<p>“Dean.” The older man insisted. “What’s going on? Can you put your Dad on the phone?”  </p>
<p>“He’s on a hunt.” Dean said shortly.</p>
<p>“Without you?” Bobby asked.</p>
<p>“Yes.” He replied, swallowing a lump in his throat.</p>
<p>“Dean, I’m asking you for the last time.” Bobby warned. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>Dean tightened his back muscles, feeling the stab of sharp pain in his spine and trying to convince himself it’s grounding, somehow. All it accomplished was a pained gasp to slip out. Knowing his chance to bolt was gone, Dean tried to conjure something resembling a joke. “Do you think I’m pretty enough to be the new face of LifeAlert?” He asked cheekily.</p>
<p>Bobby sighed, and Dean could practically hear the hunter pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you calling me because you’ve fallen and can’t get up?” He asked slowly, trying to hide how incredulous he sounds.</p>
<p>“…Maybe?” Dean said sheepishly.</p>
<p>“Alright, gimme your coordinates.”</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Bobby shows up seven hours later and does a double take when he sees Dean sitting nonchalantly outside his motel room. The only light is from a busted-out streetlight across the parking lot, and Bobby set down his first aid kit with a thump. “You goddam Winchesters.” He scolded. “When you said you were <em>outside Bemidji,</em> I didn’t think you meant sitting on your ass outdoors in 0-degree weather! You got a fucking death wish?”</p>
<p>“Nice to see you too.” Dean drawled sarcastically. In truth, Bobby has a point, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t hypothermic, so he didn’t see the point of freaking out.</p>
<p>“How long you got the motel for?” Bobby asked</p>
<p>“Checkout’s at nine.” He replied, giving a yawn. “So, do you come here often?” He jokes.</p>
<p>“If you didn’t look like day old shit, I’d smack you.” Bobby threatened. He crouched down carefully. “Alright, what’s keeping you grounded?” He asked, already scanning the boy’s body for anything obvious.</p>
<p>“Back.” Dean grimaced.</p>
<p>Bobby’s eyes flickered with concerned. “Any numbness?”</p>
<p>“Nah.” Dean reassured. “Legs are moving fine, just a bit stuck. I was headed out to the bar when I slipped on ice.”</p>
<p>Bobby eyed the offending patch and opened a vial of salt from his pocket, pouring it carefully onto the asphalt. “How you wanna go about this?” He quired. “I figure you’re scrawny enough I can still lift you.”</p>
<p>Dean shook his head. “Just a hand.”</p>
<p>The going’s slow, and halfway through Dean thinks it might have just been quicker if Bobby had carried him, but soon they’re inside and Bobby is kicking the spluttering radiator, trying to coax a bit more heat out of it. Dean’s leaning ramrod straight against the headboard of one of the beds, feeling a bit like a tight-laced Victorian governess.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna see if this place has an ice machine.” Bobby grunted, but not before draping a blanket over him carefully. “I can’t have any swelling starting near your spinal cord. I’ll give you some of the good stuff when I’m back and see if we can’t get you some sleep.”</p>
<p>Dean nodded, happy he’s not in charge of any decision making. His back hurts like a son of a bitch and he’d spent most of the past night actively trying not to vomit from pain. “I got a couple of bucks in my wallet.” He grunted. “Vending machines got instant coffee if you want it.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t peg you as a hostess.” Bobby retorted, exiting carefully.</p>
<p>He’s back in less than five minutes with a ziploc bag of ice and a cola. “I’d prefer the other type of coke right now.” Dean joked.</p>
<p>Bobby snorted, pulling Dean’s shoulders carefully forward so he can put the ice behind his spine. “I’m thinking we skip the naproxen and go straight for the Vicodin.” He suggested. “I got some flexeril kicking around my bag somewhere, too.”</p>
<p>“What is this, foreplay?” Dean replied, taking a sip of the offered soda while Bobby gathered the pills.</p>
<p>“I’m thinking if we get your muscles loosened that bastard will slip right back in.” Bobby retorted, ignoring the boy’s attempt at humor.</p>
<p>“I'm okay, Bobby.” Dean defended.</p>
<p>“I wish I could believe that, son.” He dumped a small handful of pills into Dean’s hand. “You warming up yet?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine, Bobby.” Dean insisted. “No frostbite, no hypothermia. Just shitty joints.”</p>
<p>Bobby nodded. “Alright then, you feel up to researching? I’m helping a fellow down south with a lemure. How’s your Latin?”</p>
<p>“You know, on second thought, I really feel like shit.” Dean joked but accepts to book thrown gently at him. His Latin wasn’t bad, but translating was still tedious, and with the painkillers he found himself dozing lightly.</p>
<p>“Idjit.” Was the last thing he heard before finally succumbing to sleep.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>“Wakey wakey.” Bobby said what felt like a moment later.</p>
<p>“Mhhrph?” Dean grunted, sitting up carefully. His back felt good, the vertebrae in, with only a little residual swelling. His ass was definitely bruised, his tailbone probably as well, but all things considered he felt a hell of a lot better than expected.</p>
<p>He wished he would stop shaking, though.</p>
<p>His entire body is vibrating as he looked at his hands apathetically. “Yeah, no hypothermia my ass.” Bobby scoffed, pressing a Styrofoam cup into his hands. “Drink this. We’ve got to get you warm and hydrated. The sugar will help if you’re hypoglycemic.”</p>
<p>Dean took the cup with both hands, raising it to his mouth carefully. “Tastes like shit.” He complained.</p>
<p>“Too bad.” Bobby replied. He stretched his arms carefully. “I’m going to go ask the front desk for some more blankets; you got enough pillows?”</p>
<p>Dean surveyed his body. Three out of four were keeping him propped up, with one beneath his knees. “I’m good.”</p>
<p>Bobby looked skeptical. “I’ll be back soon.” He said. “I want to see that cocoa gone by the time I’m back.” </p>
<p>Dean nodded, downing the drink in one swig so he could close his eyes.</p>
<p>“Stay awake.” Bobby ordered, what felt like a millisecond later.</p>
<p>Inhaling sharply, Dean opened his eyes to see the hunter covering him with yet another blanket. “How’d you get here so fast?”</p>
<p>Bobby looked concerned. “The night manager went to get me some uncooked rice.” He said simply. “Got any clean socks?”</p>
<p>“Define clean.” Dean joked, Bobby already tearing through his duffle bag.</p>
<p>“Got a buddy up near Whitehorse working a case.” Bobby responded. “No EMF, smell of Sulphur, and it’s impossible to notice any cold spots since he’s well into Yukon. When he turns on the tap, the water is cloudy, but only in the kitchen, not the bathroom. What’s he hunting?”</p>
<p>“Phantom.” Dean replies. “You know that.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Bobby continues, “I got another buddy, tracking something in a suburb of Newark…”</p>
<p>They play the game for a bit, Dean pretending not to realize it’s just a method of keeping him awake. There’s a knock at the door, and Bobby accepts the bag of uncooked rice. Pouring it into clean socks, the elder hunter heats the bundles in the microwave before placing them under the blanket with Dean. After an hour or so of the one-sided questioning, Bobby seemed satisfied that Dean wasn’t in the danger zone anymore.</p>
<p>“Get some shut eye.” Bobby instructed. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”</p>
<p>Dean obeyed, and when he rose it was to Bobby wordlessly passing him a mug of coffee and a folding black cane.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“I’m glad Bobby came when you called.” Castiel murmured.</p>
<p>“Family don’t end in blood.” Dean quoted. “That doesn’t just apply to humans, you know.” He looked at the angel carefully. “He couldn’t fix my problem, no one can. My joints are destined to be shitty as ever. But he supported me and gave me the cane so I could feel his support even when he wasn’t there.”</p>
<p>Castiel closed his eyes, reading the next passage of his poem.</p>
<p>
  <em>An orphan's curse would drag to hell / A spirit from on high; / But oh! more horrible than that / Is the curse in a dead man's eye! / Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, / And yet I could not die.</em>
</p>
<p>“When I prayed.” Castiel admitted shakily. “I asked for death. I wanted to die.” He stared at his shoes, unable to look Dean in the eyes. “I <em>want</em> to die.”  His voice cracked, and he felt a tear drip down his face. “I want to die.”</p>
<p>The hunter pulled him into a hug. “Well, I don’t want you to.” He scolded. “This world needs you. <em>I</em> need you.”</p>
<p>Castiel felt himself continually sob, and Dean held him the entire time. After a few moments, Castiel regained his composure. “Apologies.” He muttered. “I did not mean to get you wet.”</p>
<p>“Cas.” Dean murmured. “You have nothing to apologize for.”</p>
<p>Castiel looked up at the man he loved, thinking wistfully of the next verse in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner.</p>
<p>
  <em>O happy living things! no tongue / Their beauty might declare: / A spring of love gushed from my heart, / And I blessed them unaware: </em>
</p>
<p>“I love you.” He confessed. It felt freeing, to allow himself to feel the most human of emotions, and to express it in words. He and Dean talked more in body language than in spoken communication most of the time, letting longing gazes and deep kisses convey what was felt, and it was rare to talk this much, never mind talk of things deep.</p>
<p>“I love you too.” Dean smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to the angel’s lips.</p>
<p>Castiel melted a bit at the affirmation. He might not love himself, but Dean loved him, and that would have to be enough, at least for now.</p>
<p>“I love you.” Castiel said again. “I love you.” He repeated like a prayer. He cracked a smile. It was now, viewing his favorite of his father’s creation, that he felt seen. God may not have answered Cas’s prayers in purgatory, But as Castiel read the next passage, he remembered that God had sent Dean to him, and perhaps that was far better.</p>
<p>
  <em>The self-same moment I could pray; / And from my neck so free / The Albatross fell off, and sank / Like lead into the sea.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<hr/>
<p>After giving the hunter a few painkillers (he’d been talked into narcotics so quickly Castiel wasn’t sure whether to worry, but that was a discussion for another day,) Dean fell asleep against Castiel’s shoulder while engulfed in the soft light of <em>Slumber Party Massacre. </em>Deciding the hunter would be far more comfortable in bed, Castiel pressed two fingers against his head to ensure Dean would remain asleep before carefully carrying the man into his bedroom, depositing him carefully on the memory foam mattress. “Sleep now.” He murmured. “Angels are watching over you.”  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Gerasim</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Six hours later, Dean was still asleep, knees propped up carefully by pillows as Castiel had seen the hunter do countless times before when his pain levels were high, but Cas heard the sounds of the shower turning on two doors down and knew Sam was awake. Eyeing Dean, he knew he would be asleep at least until the painkillers wore off, giving Castiel a few hours to figure out how best to help him. Decision made; the angel headed to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee for the younger Winchester.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Sam.” He greeted.</p>
<p>Sam jumped a bit at the voice coming from the dark kitchen, but relaxed as he flipped on the light and saw it was merely Castiel.  “Hey, Cas.”  He accepted the proffered cup of coffee with a half-smile of thanks. “Dean still asleep?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Cas replied. “I gave him some hydrocodone about six hours ago, so I estimate he’ll sleep for at least another two hours.”</p>
<p>Sam frowned. “That bad, huh? Dean hates taking opioids.”</p>
<p>“I am aware.” Castiel replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Of all the molecules, caffeine tasted the best to him, so coffee was one of the few human substances he partook in. It also helped the normalcy for him to have something in front of him when he met the boys at a diner, or so Dean said. “However, I offered, and he accepted gladly. He’d woken up from the pain merely a few hours after lying down, so I think he wanted some sleep.”</p>
<p>Sam stifled a yawn. “Yeah, it was cold out there last night.” He agreed. “He can deny it all he wants, but I know the cold makes his pain worse.” He leaned against the countertop, running a hand casually through his wet hair.</p>
<p>“I have a favor to ask of you.” Cas sheepishly said.</p>
<p>“Hmm?” Sam offered in lieu of a reply.</p>
<p>“Can you help me access the social media?”</p>
<p>Sam snorted softly into his mug. This was going to be fun.</p>
<hr/>
<p>An hour and a half later of looking through posts hashtagged Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome on various websites, Castiel had a few ideas of what seemed to offer some relief to others with Dean’s condition. He cataloged them internally and was just deciding whether to list marijuana above or below topical application of magnesium in terms of potential usefulness when he heard the telltale clacking of Dean making his way into the library on crutches.</p>
<p>“Hello, Dean.” Cas greeted, standing up so he could pull out a chair for the eldest Winchester.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Dean grunted as he more or less collapsed into the chair, leaning his forearm crutches against the table.</p>
<p>Sam closed the book on Skinwalkers he’d been reading. “I’ll go put another pot of coffee on.” He said. “You want a refill, Cas?” He asked, nodding to the empty camp mug next to the angel.</p>
<p>“No thank you.” Castiel smiled. Once the younger Winchester was out of earshot, he stood next to Dean and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>“I’m okay.” The hunter replied, turning his head to look at the angel. “How are you feeling? Nearly gave me a heart attack when I woke up in bed without you.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” The angel apologized. “Sam was showing me how to go on the social media.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to Dean’s lips. “Just let me worry about you, okay?”</p>
<p>“I’ll be okay, Cas.” Dean reassured. “Put if roleplaying Florence Nightingale helps you, I will happily submit to you. I love you.” He replied, a cheeky grin crossing his face.</p>
<p>Castiel smiled. “I love you too.” He replied, pressing a kiss to Dean’s neck.</p>
<p>The sound of a throat clearing broke them out of their reverie. “Can we keep the make-out sessions to your room, please?” Sam requested. Dean had broken down and told Sam of their relationship after Purgatory, when he thought he would never see the angel again, and Sam’s reply was <em>yeah, no shit sherlock. </em>It felt good to have no secrets between the three of them, and true to form, Sam was ecstatic to see his brother so happy.</p>
<p>“Aw, you’re no fun.” Dean complained, taking the coffee happily.  </p>
<p>Castiel sat down in the chair next to Dean, idly scanning the library shelves for a book he hadn’t read yet.</p>
<p>“I called Garth and let him know we took out that nest, by the way.” Sam offered as conversation. “They were so obvious with the murders I figured other hunters were probably working the case, so I figured he could call off the hounds.”</p>
<p>“Garth has hounds?” Castiel questioned.</p>
<p>“It’s figure of speech.” Sam supplied.</p>
<p>Castiel nodded, and Dean finished his coffee. “More coffee?” The angel offered.</p>
<p>Dean shook his head. The oxycodone had long passed its half-life and the amount of pain he was in was making him nauseous. “I’m good.” He replied, stifling a yawn.</p>
<p>“Do you need more painkillers?” Sam asked.</p>
<p>“No.” He replied firmly. He hated the fogginess they provided- he shuddered to think of how he wouldn’t be able to fight properly if something attacked while he was on narcotics. He thought of taking advil or drinking some whiskey, but he’d had so many stomach ulcers that he would need to eat something, first. He reached for his crutches, knocking them over with a grimace. He suddenly felt watched, like his vulnerability was on display, and felt like he needed to go somewhere or do something, shout or cry or do anything to get the two sets of pitying eyes off of him.</p>
<p>And then he thought of Castiel’s shaky voice the night prior. <em>Please, just let me feel like I’m helping</em> the angel had said.</p>
<p>Dean sighed. “Cas, could you hand me those?” He asked.</p>
<p>Castiel got up and gladly handed them to the hunter. “Here you are.”</p>
<p>“I’m gonna go hop in the shower.” He offered as an explanation.</p>
<p>“I’m going to get back to the ramblings of,” Sam glanced at the author’s name inscribed on the spine of the Edwardian book he was holding. “J. T Stainton.”</p>
<p>“Sounds riveting.” Dean replied sarcastically. He began to make his way back towards the hallway his room was attached to but paused when he noticed Castiel was still sat at the table, looking idly at the bookcases. “You coming, babe?”</p>
<p>Sam scrunched up his nose. “Guess I’ll go get my headphones.”</p>
<p>Castiel stood. “First one there wins.” He spoke, before promptly teleporting into the shower.</p>
<p>Dean snorted. “Cheater.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Castiel was nude by the time Dean made it into the bathroom, and already had the tap turned on, waiting casually for the water to heat up.  </p>
<p>“Hey there, handsome.” Dean offered as a greeting, sitting down on the closed toilet lid. He leaned his crutches against the wall and took off his robe. He raked his eyes over Cas, admiring the view, even though he was far too exhausted for anything even resembling arousal to wash over him.</p>
<p>Castiel noticed the pause. “Would you like me to undress you?”</p>
<p>“Nah, some things should stay sexy.”</p>
<p>Happy with the water temperature, Castiel flipped the lever that allowed the shower to turn into a spray. All the bedrooms in the bunker were equipped with bath/shower combinations, but the bathtubs were far too small for Dean’s frame, leaving the hunter with a preference for showers even when in agony. “I’m going to lift you over the edge of the bathtub.” He stated. “I do not wish for you to slip.”  </p>
<p>Dean nodded, and Castiel was gentle as he lifted him. Carefully putting him down, Cas positioned them so Dean’s back faced the water, with himself facing Dean’s front so he could support the hunter. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ shoulders, and the angel grabbed the base of Dean’s ass to help hold his upright. “Thanks, Cas.” Dean murmured. The hot water felt luxurious as it loosened the muscles in his back, and he moaned happily.</p>
<p>Cas pressed a kiss to Dean’s neck. “I’m glad it feels good.”</p>
<p>“It feels fucking amazing.” Dean reassured, moaning once more as the water pressure attacked the knots in his muscles.</p>
<p> “We should have done this ages ago.” Castiel agreed as he shifted, trying to not let Dean feel his hardening cock against his thigh. The hunter was in no fit state to fuck, and Cas tried to will his vessel into submission.</p>
<p>Dean frowned as the angel fidgeted next to him. “Am I too heavy?” He asked, concerned.</p>
<p>“I think you’ve forgotten my strength again.” Castiel replied. “Remember that anvil I lifted?”</p>
<p>Dean nodded, readjusting himself to place his head against Cas’ when he felt the angel’s erection. “Oh,” He breathed.</p>
<p>“Just ignore it.” Castiel urged. He shifted his hips again, but his cock brushed Dean’s thigh and he felt himself gasp as he became even harder.</p>
<p>“I will do no such thing.” Dean replied with a gleam in his eye. He was still flaccid, and in so much pain he knew it was going to stay that way, but he could still have some fun. “I’m too much of an opportunist.”</p>
<p>Dean rubbed himself against Castiel’s now leaking dick, and the angel cursed in extasy. “Fuck.” He moaned. He grabbed Dean’s ass harder but looked concernedly at the human. “You’re in too much pain.” He declined. “I don’t want to hurt you.”</p>
<p>“What if we had fun without having sex?” Dean offered, formulating a plan in his head quickly.</p>
<p>Castiel felt his resolve weaken. “You promise to tell me if you begin to feel more pain?” He asked, hips bucking into Dean desperately.</p>
<p>“Promise.” Dean replied. “Now, hand me that shower gel.”</p>
<p>Castiel reached behind Dean and got the rosemary-scented body wash off the shower caddy. He’d primarily purchased it due to the bees decorating the bottle, but he had to admit it smelled quite nice. “What are you doing?” He questioned as Dean used copious amounts of shower gel between his thighs.</p>
<p>“This.” Dean smirked, as he wrapped his now lubed upper thighs around Castiel’s cock.</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck, oh Dean.” Castiel moaned. He began pumping in between the soft flesh, fucking the hunter’s thighs heartily. “You feel so good.”</p>
<p>Dean tightened his grip on the angel’s shoulders. He loved watching Cas slowly come undone as extasy reverted him to his most primal self. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”</p>
<p>Castiel grasped Dean tighter, lifting him up a bit to reduce whatever strain on his joint he might be causing. “Ol hoath.” He moaned in Enochian.</p>
<p>Dean smiled at the pet name. Castiel remarked that it was one of the only terms of endearment in the language, and that while it literally translated into <em>my worshipper, </em>it was akin to the nickname <em>my lover </em>in English. “Ol hoath.” He murmured back, feeling Castiel continually thrust against him. He tightened his grip on the angel’s shoulders and clenched his thigh muscles for more friction.</p>
<p>“Dean.” Castiel spoke through clenched teeth after a few minutes. “My Dean, I’m gonna-“ He rutted desperately a few more times.</p>
<p>“Come for me.” Dean pleaded. “You look so pretty, baby.” He clenched his thighs together again. “I love you.”</p>
<p>Something in the words spurred on Cas’s orgasm, and he came harsh, with a few last thrusts. “I love you too.” He purred, eyes fluttering open before pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to Dean’s lips.</p>
<p>Dean smiled, leaning into the kiss, but started to lose his footing and began to slide. “Fuck.” He muttered.</p>
<p>“I have you.” Cas reassured, clutching Dean firmly to his chest, keeping him anchored upright. He focused on Dean’s body for a moment, feeling the changes in heat signatures before identifying what was causing Dean the most issues at that moment. “Is this your way of saying I make you weak at the knees?”</p>
<p>Dean rolled his eyes. “I think I may be at the end of my upright-ability.” He admitted.</p>
<p>“Let’s get you sitting.” Cas susurrated, slowly helping the hunter ease down onto the cold porcelain of the tub. Cas stepped out, grabbing the shampoo and working a lather into Dean’s wet hair. “Do you want a shave?” He offered. The hunter was only mildly stubbled, but he knew Dean sometimes preferred to be completely clean shaven.</p>
<p>“Nah.” Dean declined, humming with content as Cas started to carefully bathe him, rubbing a washcloth across his chest as the hot water continually beat down. The bathtub was cold against his back, though, and he found himself suppressing a shiver.</p>
<p>Frowning, Cas detached the showerhead and rinsed Dean’s hair and body thoroughly before shutting the water off. “There.” He announced. “All clean.” Standing, he laid a towel atop the closed toilet and made a mental note to get a small chair for the bathroom next time he had the chance. Something wood, perhaps, he mused. He picked up Dean carefully after informing him of his intention and placed him on the towel before grabbing a second one to dry Dean off with, using his grace to warm it slightly.</p>
<p>“Show off.” Dean teased. Then after a pause, “You don’t have to do this.”</p>
<p>“I know.” Castiel replied. “But I want to. I love you, and I want you to feel as good as you possibly can right now.”  </p>
<p>Dean nodded. “You know I want the same for you, right?”</p>
<p>“Of course.” Castiel replied, bending down to dry Dean’s feet carefully.</p>
<p>“I mean it, Cas.” Dean insisted. “I will do whatever might help you, whether it’s going for a drive, or fishing, or just staying up to listen to you quote Coleridge.”   </p>
<p>Castiel smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the hunter’s knee.  “Dean.” He replied seriously. “All I need is for you to be yourself. To quote the Elvis, you make me happy when skies are grey.”</p>
<p>Dean thought of replying with something equally sappy, but what came out was, “<em>The </em>Elvis?”</p>
<hr/>
<p>After drying Dean off and coating his joints in arnica oil, the Winchester insisted on getting dressed, despite Castiel’s nod-so- subtle attempts on convincing him to stay in his robe. Not wanting to make Dean feel like an invalid, Castiel sat back while Dean dressed carefully, eyeing the human’s movements to further assess his pain levels. “Would you like me to make you breakfast so you can take something for the pain?” Cas asked as Dean tried to disguise a grimace while pulling on his AC/DC shirt. “I think there’s still some of that bread Sam bought at the farmers market.”</p>
<p>Dean raised an eyebrow. “I know you did not just offer me whole-wheat.”</p>
<p>Castiel smiled as he snapped and was dressed instantaneously. “I’ll go toast you some wonderbread, then.”</p>
<p>“I’ll meet you in the map room, then. Any chance of more coffee?”</p>
<p>“Your wish is my command.”</p>
<p>Once Cas had left the room, Dean pulled a flannel on over his shirt, an old Woolrich one he’d inherited from his Dad. He’d already put jeans on, so now all that was left were shoes and socks. He could just have put his slippers back on, but the ankle support of his boots sounded heavenly right now for his fatigued legs. Once he had them laced all the way to the top, he grabbed his forearm crutches and began the trek to the map room that seemed twice as long as normal. He passed Sam, still sat at the table in the library, though his brother was staring at his laptop instead of a book this time.</p>
<p>“Hey.” He greeted, purposely not sitting down. He wasn’t certain he’d have the energy to get back up, so this was easier. “You eaten yet? Cas is making toast, I could ask him to make you some.”</p>
<p>Same snorted. “Don’t worry, mom.” He teased. “I had poached eggs and a smoothie while you and Cas were doing god knows what in the shower.”</p>
<p>“Please don’t mention my father in the same sentence as Dean and I exploring each other carnally.” Castiel called from the kitchen.</p>
<p>“I forgot how good his hearing is.” Sam muttered.</p>
<p>“Knowing each other carnally?” Dean asked incredulously. “That’s the euphemism you went with‽”</p>
<p>Castiel poked his head out of the kitchen. “Fine,” He teased. “Sam, would you mind not mentioning my father when alluding to myself sodomizing Dean?”</p>
<p>Sam’s eyebrows shot up, before shrugging. “Well, I owe Charlie twenty bucks.” He said.</p>
<p>“Oh, do not tell me you two were betting on that.” Dean scolded. “Besides, I sodomize Cas all the time.”</p>
<p>Castiel laughed from the kitchen. “That’s only due to the secondary meaning of sodomize.”</p>
<p>“Not helping!” Dean retorted, beginning his trek to the map table.</p>
<p>Sam pulled out his phone and texted Charlie. <em>What’s your venmo? </em></p>
<p>Dean sat down at the table. He was <em>never</em> going to hear the end of this.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Breakfast was mediocre at best. The two pieces of WonderBread they had left were both ends, and the only jam left was blueberry, not strawberry. The coffee was good, and the company better though, so Dean couldn’t complain too much. “Looks like we’re going on a supply run.” He told Cas, after finishing his breakfast and kissing him with too much tongue so he could hear the angel complain of how the molecular structure of the high fructose corn syrup in the bread tasted disgusting.</p>
<p>Castiel opened his trench coat and pulled out a bottle of naproxen. He tried to keep them on hand at all times, should the hunter need them. “Take these, first. Shall I go check our stock of perishables?”</p>
<p>Dean dry swallowed two of the pills thankfully. “Sure, I’ll go ask if Sam needs anything.” Once Castiel was back in the kitchen, he pulled out his phone and texted Sam. <em>You require any more vegetation, Sasquatch? I hear they sell flavored air now.</em></p>
<p>Dean could practically hear Sam roll his eyes, but the chair squeaked, and his ginormous brother came over to the table. “I’m giving Cas the list this time.”</p>
<p>Dean frowned as if he had no idea what Sam was talking about. “What? I’m a great shopper.”</p>
<p>“I asked for carrots, and you brought home cake.” Sam complained.</p>
<p>Dean pointed his finger. “It was a <em>carrot </em>cake.”</p>
<p>Sam huffed. “I asked for a box of earl grey and you got me tea for nursing mothers.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Dean defended. “It was tea.”</p>
<p>Sam pulled out bitchface #13. “I asked for the new <em>Food Network</em> magazine and you brought me home something called <em>Twinks in Trucks.” </em></p>
<p>Dean cackled at that memory. Then, after a pause, “Would you prefer <em>Twinks on Boats?” </em></p>
<p>Sam smacked him with the notepad he was holding, so Dean whacked him in the shins with a crutch. “Ow!” Sam complained. “I was much nicer.” He smacked Dean at the base of his neck, and Dean whacked him with a crutch again. “Oh, you want to go nuclear?” He asked with a glimmer in his eye. Snatching Dean’s crutches, he made a show of holding them above his head, while Dean scowled.</p>
<p>“Give those back!” He demanded.</p>
<p>“Of course.” Sam said. “I’ll just leave them right here.” With that, he leaned them against the wall of buttons and laughed to himself as he trotted into the kitchen to give Cas his list.</p>
<p>“Fuck you!” Dean called. With a grimace, he pushed himself into a standing position and began moving towards the wall, keeping himself upright with a hand on the table. He glanced at his forlorn crutches, eyeing the distance. It was only a few steps, so he walked carefully, feeling his kneecaps wobble as he did. Grabbing them, he made his way into the kitchen, where Castiel was frowning at the shopping list.</p>
<p>“How will I know if the yogurt was made in Greece?” The angel asked.</p>
<p>Dean walked up behind Cas and peered at the phrase <em>Greek yogurt </em>written in Sam’s script. “It’s a type of yogurt, babe.” Dean said.  </p>
<p>Castiel nodded. “What else should I add?” He asked, pointing to where his small letters listed <em>beer, pie, milk, eggs, </em>and <em>jerky. </em></p>
<p>Dean smiled and pressed a kiss to the back of his head. “Absolutely nothing.”  </p>
<p>With the list sorted, they made their way to the garage, and Dean slid into Baby’s driver seat with a smile. Fuck, if she wasn’t a surefire way to make the world feel okay. It was cold as shit, and Castiel had fussed over Dean until he’d put on a leather jacket and was currently trying to convince him to wear a hat.</p>
<p>“I read that humans are vulnerable to heat loss from their heads.” The angel insisted.</p>
<p>“We’ll be inside quickly.” Dean reassured.</p>
<p>Castiel look unconvinced. “There may be ice in the parking lot.” He fretted.</p>
<p>Dean sighed. “I’ll pull in front of the store, get out and go inside, and you can park baby, okay?” He offered. “Just know I’ve got an angel blade and I’m not afraid to use it if you scratch her.”  </p>
<p>Castiel smiled. “Thank you, Dean.” He looked at the oncoming road. “Not just for that, but for…” He paused searching for words. “For allowing me to feel needed.”  </p>
<p>Dean took his eyes from the road to glance at Cas. “You’re always needed.”</p>
<p>“You keep saying that.” Castiel murmured as he turned to look out the window. “But I’ve yet to feel it.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Dean said. “I’ll just keep saying it until you realize the truth in it.”</p>
<p>Cas smiled sadly. He felt strangely disconnected from life right now. There was something that just didn’t feel real about the domesticity of it all. He felt so unworthy of the relative leisure of the life he currently led that went beyond feelings of guilt. It was like he was so wicked that this life with Dean and easy hunts and shower sex felt like it had to be a mirage.</p>
<p>“Earth to Cas.” Dean’s voice freed Castiel from his reverie. They were in front of the grocery store, with Baby idling and Dean looking at him worriedly. “You okay?”</p>
<p>“My apologies.” Cas replied, turning to grab Dean’s crutched from the car. Rather than handing them to his boyfriend, he got out of the car and opened Dean’s door to hand him them from the outside. He watched carefully as the hunter heaved himself out of the car and onto the salt-covered pavement. Sliding into the just-vacated driver’s seat, he gave Dean a faint smile. “I’ll meet you inside.”</p>
<p>“Be careful with her.” Dean warned once more, before turning to walk into the store. Once he was inside, he eyed the carts with relief. They could probably fit everything in a basket, but the cart meant he could lean on something and transport the groceries at the same time. Backing it out of the entrance with a grimace (seriously, why did walking backwards hurt so much more than forwards?) He was just beginning to peruse the display of discounted Christmas cookies when Cas walked up beside him.</p>
<p>“I believe we should start in the produce section.” Cas suggested. “Sam has requested spinach and some infant tomatoes.”</p>
<p>“…Infant tomatoes?”</p>
<p>Cas pulled out the list. “My apologies.” He corrected, then, with air quotes, “baby tomatoes.”</p>
<p>Dean smiled. That was the angel he knew and loved.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The rest of the shopping was uneventful, even though Dean’s attempts to screw over Sam were met with great distain from the angel. Once they crossed through the doors of the bunker, Dean stalled at the top of the stairs.</p>
<p>“I’ll take the groceries in, then come and help you.” Castiel told Dean. When the hunter opened his mouth to protest, Cas cut him off. “That wasn’t a question.” He said, then promptly flew from the car into the bunker with groceries in hand. Almost instantaneously, He was back, opening the car door for Dean.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Dean grunted as the angel handed him his crutches. Once inside, Cas took one so Dean could use the handrail, and trailed closely behind him in case he fell.</p>
<p>Sam eyed Dean worriedly as he walked past but said nothing on the subject. “I’ll go put the groceries.” He said instead.</p>
<p>Once his little brother was out of sight, Dean admitted defeat. “Alright.” He sighed. “I need to lay down.” He shifted awkwardly, hoping Cas picked up on his request.</p>
<p>He didn’t. “Alright,” Castiel replied. “Shall I fetch you the hot water bottle?”</p>
<p>He could ask; he really could. Cas was his partner, his lover, his everything. But when the words tried to come out, they caught in his throat. Instead, he calculated a plan. “You could be my hot water bottle.” Dean said slyly, then purposely took a step with far too long a stride for his current shape, causing his knee to buckle.</p>
<p>Castiel was instantly by his side. “Dean.” He worried. Then after a pause, “May I carry you to your room?”</p>
<p>Dean nodded, internally delighted. His body was over trying to work today, and he desperately needed a nap. It was exhausting having to consciously think of each movement on a micro-scale, with each step requiring the coordination of four limbs, a conscious effort to not hyperextend a knee, the careful act of taking short strides as to not dislocate a hip-</p>
<p>Cast interrupted Dean’s trail of consciousness. “Let’s get you to bed, my love.” He murmured.</p>
<p>Dean relaxed against the angel’s chest, feeling a wave of comfort and warmth flow over him as Cas enveloped him in his wings. “You are the best.” He smiled. The cold had hurt like a son of a bitch- seriously, why hadn’t he had the sense to don long underwear?</p>
<p>Cas placed him on the bed gently. “If we are to cuddle.” He spoke. “I am going to go get my blanket. I have no clue how you find this wool….<em>thing </em>comfortable.”</p>
<p>“Hey!” Dean protested, as if they hadn’t had this argument countless times. “Don’t insult her, she’s a veteran!” He stroked the army surplus blanket lovingly.</p>
<p>Castiel shook his head, clearly not understanding all of Dean’s personality quirks. “I’ll be right back.” He said. “Do you need anything while I’m up?”</p>
<p>“A beer?” Dean asked hopefully. He knew Cas wouldn’t bring him whiskey this early- the angel was always concerned about his alcohol consumption- but maybe with a beer he could get some sleep.</p>
<p>“Just this once.” Castiel replied, as if this didn’t happen at least four times a week.</p>
<p>Once he left, Dean took off his shoes and socks, taking the time to carefully relocate the toes that had dislocated during his outing. Then, he removed his leather jacket, before shrugging and taking off his jeans as well before laying back and wrapping the blanket around his legs, now clad only in boxers and two shirts.  “Hey there, handsome.” Dean greeted.</p>
<p>Castiel paused in the doorway, a beer in one hand and an amber-colored blanket draped over his shoulder. He put the beer on the table next to Dean and pressed a kiss to his hair. “You look far more comfortable now.” He murmured, before toeing his shoes off and removing his trench coat.</p>
<p>“You are not getting into bed while wearing a suit.” Dean admonished.</p>
<p>“You just want me naked.” Castiel observed.</p>
<p>Dean smirked. “Me? I’d never try to defile an angel.”</p>
<p>Castiel shrugged off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt slowly. “Well of course.” He teased. “That would be a fruitless endeavor. Angels are un-defile-able.”  He frowned at the poor grammar. “Fileable? The English language is incomprehensible at times, and I’ve witnessed its creation.”  </p>
<p>Dean ignored the angel’s ramblings. “I’ll file you.” He mocked.</p>
<p>Cas tossed his shirt aside before stepping out of his slacks. “Oh, will you?” He asked, waggling his belt tauntingly.  Then he sat on the edge of the bed, tossing the soft machine-knit blanket atop them both. Dean scooted closer, and Castiel pressed the sides of their heads together. “Would you like me to put you to sleep?”</p>
<p>Dean nodded, but as Cas went to put two fingers to his forehead, the hunter protested. “No, not like that.” He chastised, batting the hand away. “I want you to read to me.”</p>
<p>Castiel frowned, puzzled. “What would you like me to read? Is there research you need to do?”</p>
<p>Dean shook his head. “Cas, last night, with you quoting Coleridge… it felt like the most open you’ve been. It was like I could peer past the curtains in your mind. I want you to read to me, but you chose the book. I want you to read what you feel like reading.”</p>
<p>Castiel stalled. What did he feel like reading? What would occupy his mind right now, but more importantly, occupy his soul, and feel something so fervent in nature it was akin to the emotions he saw displayed on humans? He sat up, as if he were somehow better able to collect the thoughts in his head when upright. Dean’s head was resting against his thigh now, soft puffs of air warming him in time with Dean’s breathing. Dean’s eyes were soft with exhaustion, his joints ablaze with fire agony so prevalent Cas didn’t even have to examine his lover’s aura: it was a dark scratch across his very soul. He gazed at the dark spot for a moment and knew what he wanted to read. What he wanted to try and understand now, not objectively as one learns of the position of the planets in the galaxy, but rather subjectively as one learns about heartbreak.</p>
<p>Brushing a hand softly through Dean’s hair he began to recite <em>The Death of Ivan Ilyich. </em>“During an interval in the Melvinski trial in the large building of the Law Courts the members and public prosecutor met in Ivan Egorovich Shebek's private room, where the conversation turned on the celebrated Krasovski case.”</p>
<p>Dean was asleep before he even got to the funeral scene, but Castiel continued to read. The hunter often suffered nightmares, but they seemed to vanish when he was around, as if it was a side effect of grace, or even of love. He read quietly, but with great enjoyment as he gave the different characters each unique accents, all with thick Russian overtones. It was another one he’d effectively memorized, but he possessed the knowledge as a sort of photograph, so it was far from a mindless recitation. He continued reading about the slow descent into the arms of death, but a particular section made him pause as he looked at Dean’s sleeping form.</p>
<p>“And with this knowledge, with the physical pain, and with the terror, he had to get into bed and often be unable to sleep from the pain the greater part of the night.” The angel read with a lump begging to form in his throat.  “And the next morning he had to get up again, dress, go to court, talk, write, or if he didn’t go to court he had to stay at home with those twenty-four hours of the day, each one which was torment.” His fingers stilled in Dean's hair.  “And he had to live like that on the brink of the abyss, all alone, without a single person who could understand and take pity on him.”</p>
<p>Castiel felt his breath grow ragged and his eyes grow heavy. He saw how Dean was with Sam- always struggling to maintain the image of the perfect older brother, and never more than a few steps away from whatever self-sacrifice he thought might help Sam. How had the hunter managed to exit purgatory? Dean wasn’t alone in this when Cas was there- and the sudden image of Dean, not Ivan Ilynch, alone at the edge of the abyss of chronic pain, he broke down crying. He tried to remain quiet, but after a few minutes Dean stirred and Castiel tried to hastily control his sobs.</p>
<p>“Oh, Cas.” Dean murmured, pushing himself upright to wrap his arms around the angel. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to leave you alone.” He sobbed. “Why did I leave you alone?”</p>
<p>“You’re here.” Dean soothed, rubbing the angel’s back. “I’m right here. You didn’t leave me anywhere.”</p>
<p>“I left you in purgatory.” Cas insisted. “And then I remained for selfish reasons, while forcing you to go.”</p>
<p>Dean’s hands ceased their motion. “I left you.” He said. “I left you as much as you left me. I saw your hesitation, and yet I didn’t make you go first.”</p>
<p>Cas shook his head, his sobs quieting slightly. “I left you in a time when you needed me.”</p>
<p>“I always need you.”</p>
<p> “Sometimes I think the only emotion I can feel anymore is guilt.” Castiel inhaled, trying to compose himself. “I feel as though I’ve abandoned you so many times before, and something about that passage…”</p>
<p>“You have not abandoned me.” Dean insisted. “Not yet anyway.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Exactly what I said.” The hunter retorted. “You haven’t abandoned me, Cas, not really. But if you…” Dean inhaled sharply, preparing his mouth for the bitter words about to come out. “But if you kill yourself, you will have.”</p>
<p>Castiel nodded.</p>
<p>“Cas...” Dean continued. “I might not know exactly what you’re going through right now, but I know how it feels to want death. To want an end. But I told myself for years that Sammy needed me, that people needed me. When I couldn’t live for myself, I lived for others.” He reached over and opened the forgotten beer, not caring that it had gone lukewarm by now. “There is no such thing as a stupid reason to live. If you can’t live for yourself right now, please, <em>please</em> at least live for me.”</p>
<p>Castiel wiped his face dry. “I promise.” He thought of the day he pulled the man from hell, declaring triumphantly that Dean Winchester was saved. How the roles had reversed, now. He had saved Dean all those years ago, but now, the hunter had saved Castiel from the hell of his own mind. “I promise, Dean Winchester, that I will live for you, and with you, for as long as I can remain by your side.”</p>
<p>Dean kissed him softly. “Love you.”</p>
<p>“And I love you.” Castiel reassured.</p>
<p>Castiel smiled as Dean pulled him into a lazy kiss. Today was going to be the first good day in a very long while.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I want to make it very clear that, despite the ending, I do know that love is not some kind of emotional panacea. That being said, I hope I've presented this in such a way to show the hypothesis that love, whether romantic, platonic, or familial, can act as a mirror, and oft when you fall in love with someone you wind up falling in love with yourself along the road.  The Winchesters- Castiel included- are often portrayed as people who live only to serve others, with little regard for themselves, so despite this absolutely not being how you should go about things if you or a loved one is feeling suicidal, I did feel as though it worked for the story. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this crack-angst-fluff-porn conglomerate, and I sincerely hope you find the time to read some Tolstoy that isn't <i>War and Peace</i>.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoyed this work! Basically, it was an excuse to fangirl over Destiel and STC simultaneously. As always, I wish you the very nicest of days, and I want to give all my fellow EDS'rs some gentle hugs.<br/>Always keep fighting, -Skye.<br/>(p.s, the second chapter will be up soon, most likely in a few days. It will basically be gratuitous fluffy smut without so much literature, so if you're into that, check back soon!)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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